


What's the Right Words to Say?

by CharothLikesCookies



Category: Thrilling Intent (Web Series)
Genre: Basically me writing about my theory that Meatheans speak something like Irish Gaelic, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 17:19:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10417155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharothLikesCookies/pseuds/CharothLikesCookies
Summary: Ashe didn't grow up speaking Free. She grew up on a small, reclusive island that spoke a language a its own. Markus encounters Ashe's native tongue and, eventually, learns what she's saying.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everybody! It's spring break and my birthday so I finally found the time to post this.   
> I created the Irish sentences based on my own beginner grasp on the language. In other words, it’s probably a mess in places. Translations are at the end.

Markus first hears Meathean in a fond whisper, overheard from across a table in the bar. 

It’s getting late. Most of the the island is settling down to sleep and Ashe and Markus have been left to close up the bar. Charoth is dozing in Ashe’s arms while she and Markus watch the bar. Charoth should be asleep, but has been insistent about staying up with them to the appointed closing time. His head sinks onto Ashe’s shoulder. He bolts upright again with a jolt.

Ashe chuckles, running her fingers through Charoth’s fluffy white hair, and then mutters a phrase to him.

“Oh, ceann beag, téigh a chodladh.” 

It takes a moment for Markus to realize that Ashe had spoken in something other than Free. Once he realizes the phrase must have been Meathean, a sense of awe travels over him. His knowledge on Meathe is patchy at best. Markus opens his mouth to comment, but Charoth’s head has drooped downward into sleep at last. Ashe hushes Markus before he can wake the child with his questions.

— — — — — 

The second time Markus hears Meathean, Ashe is cursing a Thog during another job gone wrong.

“Thog you whoreson! This always happens with your deals you damanta tuilí! Ní thuigim beirthe ná beo cad ina thaobh tá muinín againn asaibh.”

At that point a fire ball flies overheard, spilling from the mouth of what Gregor insists is not a dragon, and speaking of all kinds is halted. No one mentions sudden switch from Free after the flames have died down. 

— — — — —

The third time Markus hears Meathean, it’s a song. 

Ashe is on guard alone and the stars are bright and the air is clear. The day has, for once, not gone badly. All is well and, as the tall trees around their camp sway in the light breeze, Ashe begins to hum a rather upbeat tune. After a time, the hum gains words.

Ar a dhul chun chuan dom is mé bhí go huaigneach  
Tinn lag buartha im intinn  
Bhí mé a' féachaint uaim ar an spear aduaidh  
'í ag éaló uaim ina trealltaí  
Ach faraor géar géar is mé an ceann gan chéill  
Nár ghlac mé comhairle mo mháithrín fhéin  
Nuair a dúirt sí liom tré comhrá binn  
Go Béal Átha hAmhnais ná triall ann.

Markus finds himself drifting off to the sound of Ashe’s cheerful song. 

Markus wonders if he’d dreamed it all as he rises the next day. He doesn’t ask Ashe whether she sang the night before as he is certain he wasn’t supposed to hear.

— — — — —

The next time Markus hears Meathean he’s more than half certain he imagined it from delirium. He’s wrong about that, though.

Licking everything does occasionally have consequences. In this case, those consequences are a raging fever, constant shaking, and consciousness reduced to hazy, confusing flickers.

Ashe cares for Markus in his illness, cursing him and fussing over him in the same breath. He notices little of her words, but a few snippets pierce through the fog.

“Idiot, if you just kept your hands to yourself…”

“Markus, is eagal liom go bhfuil an bás agaibh…”

“Don’t die on me…”

“mura miste leat … ”

“Eol duit méid mo ghrá duit, nach agat?…”

Markus hears these words somewhere in his mind, but even the familiar Free rolls off as nonsense. Markus convinces himself that he simply twisted pieces of Free into something resembling the sounds of Meathean.

Ashe doesn't offer any aid in making sense of the matter. Markus doesn’t dare ask for anything more than what she offers.

— — — — —

The fifth time Markus hears Ashe speak Meathean, he’s meant to hear it. The words are quiet, strained, like a whistling breeze sneaking through a crack between two shingles.

Magic isn’t accepted everywhere. Markus is rather obviously magical and Ashe, despite the subtle distinction between her powers and magic, is lumped in with the rest of the supernatural by the ignorant.

Ashe and Markus have been tossed out by their latest client due to their unnatural abilities. It hurts. They were both born into their talents and for it they are now scorned.

Powerless to change their situation, their anger has stewed as they set up camp in the woods outside of town. They go through the motions with unfocused eyes. 

Markus curses in a hiss as he stubs his toe on the pile of firewood.

“Shatter a bone?” Ashe asks in a growl. Markus bristles.

“Kindling isn’t going to do me in, however feeble you think I am.”

“Oh, really? So I’m imagining fixing you up on a daily basis?”

“I made more than 30 years before you got involved in my life!”

“Yeah, and you got real good hiding your scars, didn’t you?”

Ashe starts, realizing what she just said. Markus lets out the breath he had gasped in to retort as her words reach his mind. His angered expression crumples to a pained look. Tears gleam in Markus’ eyes. 

“I- “ Ashe starts.

“You’re right,” Markus says, stopping her. “Lot of good that’s doing me now. These people, ignorant and cruel, are sure getting to me now and I’m not hiding all that well.”

Ashe hugs him. Markus returns the gesture with a tad of awkwardness.

“Markus…gabh mo leithscéal. Me a tu ghortaigh.” Ashe whispers into Markus’ chest. He chuckles silently, tears still in his eyes. Ashe can feel the laughter more than hear it and tilts her head back to look at him questioningly.

“What?” She asks confused and quickly sliding toward a defensive tone.

“What does that mean? I’ve wondered that quite a bit, about what you’ve said in Meathean, but I’ve never had a chance to ask.” Markus says.

Ashe flushes and ducks her head. Markus hears her swallow hard before she responds.

“I’ve said a lot to you in Meathean. In this case, I said ‘I’m sorry. I hurt you.’…I was angry, but not at you. I shouldn’t have baited you.”

“I should have been calmer. Will you tell me what else you’ve said in Meathean? Like what you called Thog when we fought the not-dragon.” 

Ashe laughs and nods.

“I’ll teach you if you’d like.”

“Yes!”

“Okay, okay. Calm down. You know my father would be furious if he knew I was teaching you our tongue. Lucky for you I don’t give a damn what he thinks.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh ceann beag, téigh a chodladh. = Oh little one, go to sleep.  
> damanta tuilí! Ní thuigim beirthe ná beo cad ina thaobh tá muinín againn asaibh = damned bastard! I don’t understand for the life me why we trust you.  
> Song = the first verse of Béal Átha hAmhnais   
> is eagal liom go bhfuil an bás agaibh = I’m afraid you you’ll die.  
> mura miste leat… = If you don’t mind…  
> Eol duit méid mo ghrá duit, nach agat?… = You know how I love you, don’t you?…  
> The rest Ashe translated in the story.


End file.
